


Rabbit Hole

by Rotpeach



Series: The Great Tumblr Rehoming of 2018 [41]
Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: Cannibalism, Feral Behavior, Horror, Other, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 01:23:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17416301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rotpeach/pseuds/Rotpeach
Summary: You were surprised when he let you run away until you looked back, just once, and saw his eyes glinting, a manic grin on his face.This is what he wanted.





	Rabbit Hole

**Author's Note:**

> original summary: 
> 
> "'don't hide from vincent, he can smell you.'
> 
> aw come on im sure it'd be fine."

He led you here,

(chased you here, herded you like a sheepdog herds cattle, growling and nipping at your heels, threats and promises)

but it feels like you were dragged every step of the way, like he was in front of you instead of behind you, tugging at a leash and dragging you into the dark. He meant to bring you to the old, skeletal part of town, boarded windows and chain link fences and condemnation notices plastered to doors that don’t fit quite right in their frames.

(It’s a man chasing you, just a man, just some guy you talked with over a few drinks, but it seems more like a beast that bears down on you now, that smells your fear and revels in it.)

You feel like your heavy footfalls and labored breathing and even your pounding heartbeat all echo, lingering in the silence longer than they need to. You worry they stay even when you’re long gone, hanging in the empty air like breadcrumbs for him to follow.

You don’t know how long you’ve been running, but you’re afraid to stop,

(you can’t stop you can’t stop you’ll die if you stop you’ll die if he catches you)

afraid to even look back because he might be right there, he might be waiting for you to hesitate, for you to slow down, waiting for you to trip over your aching, blistered feet.

He knows you can’t do this forever. He even guessed how long you’d be able to keep it up, and right as the burn of lactic acid building up in your legs became unbearable, he brought you here, where the only witnesses are dead streetlamps and shuttered storefronts.

The shell of an abandoned apartment complex rises ominously out of the concrete ahead of you, the surrounded fence covered in reflective “NO TRESPASSING” signs. You look up at the eroded brick exterior and rows upon rows of cracked windows, darkness lurking behind each, and you fear you’ll never leave if you go inside.

But you stumble for the first time, your lungs burning, your brow soaked with sweat, and you hear his laughter carrying on a night wind, taunting, celebrating, like the howl of a wolf on the hunt. You can’t stay out in the open, you can’t let him catch you, can’t let him find you.

You shake your head to dispel the thought that it’s too late, that you were as dead as this empty part of town the moment you set foot here.

Gasping and panting, you stagger over to the fence and struggle to hoist yourself over it, wincing at the metal catching on your clothes and digging into your skin as you lift one leg and then the other onto the other side and collapse into the grass. You pull yourself to your feet and limp up the front steps, throwing yourself against the front door until you dislodge the aging lock out of place and stumble into the entryway.

The silver light of the moon fades as the door swings shut behind you, leaving you in total darkness.

(Why why is this happening what does he want with you what does he want)

The floorboards creak and bend under your weight. You fumble in the dark searching for a wall to lean against, fingertips brushing over damp, cracked plaster. The air is musty and you smell something rancid and unpleasant; rotting. The wall ends and you feel a barricade of splintering plywood haphazardly nailed over an open doorway. 

You feel your way to the bottom and squeeze underneath it, blindly groping at the dirt-covered ground in front of you. When you can stand up again, you find yourself in an office with all the furniture left behind, your eyes taking in the silhouettes of a desk, a frayed couch and a file cabinet.

(You couldn’t have known.

The bar was crowded and the seat next to him had just opened up. He’d been friendly, hadn’t he? A little abrasive, a little rough around the edges, but not like this, nothing like this, not like the animal with a human mask that followed you out of the bar and walked a little too close.

He commented on the weather. Said it was nice out, clear skies, could see the moon real well. He wasn’t slurring his words but he definitely sounded off. “Almost full,” he said with a wistful look in his eye. “Makes a person a little crazy, huh?”

You thought he’d had one too many. Told him oh sure, maybe, and it’s pretty late, isn’t it? You tried to walk a little faster but he kept up with you. He took a deep breath and said, “It’s nothing personal, alright?” and before you could ask him what that was supposed to mean his fingers were wrapping around your forearm jerking you back towards him.

His pressed his nose to your throat and inhaled. Your nails scraped over his arms when you tried to push him away.

“No,” he said, voice lowering, “that’s a lie. It’s personal. I picked you. You….” He tugged you closer despite your struggles. “You smell so good,” he muttered, and bit into your flesh with enough force to break the skin. You thrashed when you felt his teeth sinking into your throat, you flailed and you writhed and you managed to disentangle yourself, stumbling back and pressing a hand to your bleeding neck.

You were surprised when he let you run away until you looked back, just once, and saw his eyes glinting, a manic grin on his face.

This is what he wanted.)

The room is small,

(too small, you feel the walls closing in, feel trapped and suffocated and inches from the beast’s maw, feel like you are going to die here you need to leave you need to move)

but you don’t get the chance to change your mind, because you hear the front door slam open and heavy footsteps making their way down the hall towards you. You wedge yourself beneath the desk and hold your breath, listening, waiting.

(Is this too obvious? It’s too obvious, isn’t it? It’s the first room on the right side of the hall, but maybe he’ll see it’s boarded up and turn away. Could he even fit under the boards like you did? Maybe, maybe there’s another room on the left, you didn’t check, you don’t know. Maybe he’ll go there first, maybe)

He’s getting closer.

(The desk was a bad idea. If he comes in, he’s going to check back here first. Oh god, why did you pick the desk? Where else could you have gone, though?

It was all a bad idea, you’re dead, you’re fucking dead)

You hear him just outside of the office, separated from you by nothing more than aged planks of wood and a cluttered desk. You hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, the adrenaline of the chase ebbing away and your entire body fills with a throbbing ache, but your instincts are telling you the danger isn’t gone yet.

(It’s right there, just out in the hall, pacing and breathing heavily, waiting for you to give yourself away with a sigh or a whimper, listening to you the way you’re listening to it but it’s enjoying this, it’s….

Where is it?)

You don’t hear anything. He must be perfectly still because you didn’t hear him walk away. You swallow a lump of fear in your throat, trying to think clearly, but you’re terrified. Your chest burns and you reluctantly take a shuddering breath.

The floorboards in the room creak.

You scream when the desk is thrown to the side, landing heavily against the wall and further splintering already cracked plaster. There’s nowhere to go when he lunges for you, dragging you to the middle of the room by the ankle. His hands are everywhere, tearing your clothes just enough to get to your skin, raking his nails down your body.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t tell you why, doesn’t comfort you, doesn’t taunt you, he just moves, holds you down by the throat and kicks your legs apart. You feel his flesh pressing against yours, heated and throbbing and large enough that you inhale sharply and push at his chest with a renewed effort to escape, but he’s bigger and stronger and

(not human he isn’t human you refuse to believe it nothing that can look at another person like that is human)

you can’t even make him budge. He gropes around blindly, too focused on the tender flesh of your throat to look down at what he’s doing, and you make embarrassingly soft, wounded sounds as his nips become harsh bites, leaving a trail of marks up your neck.

He grinds against you, hot and slick with his own precum, trying to find your entrance. You twist under him when he finds it, shoving a hand into his face and trying to knee him in the chest or the groin or _anywhere_ , anything at all is fine, you just need to—!

“Hold still,” he growls, the first words you’ve heard from him in what feels like forever, like your struggles have frustrated him enough that he’s momentarily lucid. You feel him pressing into you, slowly, the head of his cock stretching you painfully wide, and you try to pull back as far as you can, pressing yourself down into the floor and angling your hips away.

He tugs your hair to make you expose your throat again and sinks his teeth into you.

It’s harder than any of the ones before, deeper and more painful. You go rigid under him and feel blood spilling from beneath his lips, rolling down your body as he chews on your flesh and severs tendons. Your hands scrape over the floor looking for something to hold onto as every nerve in your body screams out in pain, and that’s the moment he snaps his hips and buries himself in you up to the hilt.

The sound that spills from your lips is strangled and hoarse, leaving your throat sore. He never stops moving, clutching your shoulders so hard he tears your skin open, dragging his hands down your arms and splitting you at the seams, fingers hooked into your wounds. He fucks you with no regard for your comfort or pleasure, fast, hard thrusts that bump and grind painfully inside of you, and you feel blood slicking your inner thighs.

He tugs back from your throat, tearing your skin in jagged lines and pulling free a chunk of flesh. You watch, paralyzed in fear and pain, as he eats it in front of you, chewing just enough to get it down in a few bulging swallows, blood sprinkling over your face. He stays buried inside of you for this, his hips stilling and his entire body trembling, and you can just barely make out his face in the dark as he licks your blood from his lips and shudders.

Whatever had the presence of mind to tell you to hold still is gone again. You whimper when he starts to move again, rutting into you mindlessly as he makes a low growling noise that you think you heard before on dark forest trails and you felt like you were being watched.

Dimly, you see moonlight seeping in between the boards in the doorway, filtered through a window in the hallway. The shadows keep shifting on his face but for just a moment you think you see an animal after all, and part of you is comforted in knowing that you were right.

His maw opens as he comes in for seconds.

You see yourself, red and glistening, between his teeth, and you close your eyes before he reaches you, hoping you can keep them shut forever.


End file.
